


Stay With Me

by neck_mole



Series: Carry On Countdown 2018 [11]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: F/F, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Making Out, One-sided pining, POV Ebeneza "Ebb" Petty, Pining, Possibly Unrequited Love, Rooftops, There's No Tags For Boobs?, Useless Lesbians, feeling up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 15:07:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16956279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neck_mole/pseuds/neck_mole
Summary: “Does there have to be more?” I mumble, body shifting as my head lolls to the side and faces her. “Do you think there’s more?”-Moonlight discussions and night long kisses back in Fi & Ebb's prime. Alternatively, the story of the girl who Ebb felt up.





	Stay With Me

**Author's Note:**

> Carry On Countdown 2018 Day 17: WLW
> 
> im crying i love girls so much this is for all my funky lil lesbians out there

I always get this twisting feeling in my gut whenever Fi invites me up to the roof.

 

There's an odd wave of sickness whenever it's just her and I. Like my stomach can't settle. Like I'm lightheaded and airy. Like she makes me loopy.

 

Part of being pals with the coolest student in school is usually following along with her antics, especially when you're aware that you just don't belong. Because, honestly, I don't. I'm not dim in any way, and I've got more than enough power on my hands, but Nicky’s always been the popular one; the “cool” one. He calls it the looks (I remind him we have the same face), but I say he just got the sociable genes. Nicky just talks to people much better; it’s easier for me to sit back. I’m  _ happy _ to sit back. I like to sit back.

 

But there’s always Fi, who’s the only one outside of Nicky who ever really puts in the effort with me.

 

Which is how we end up on the rooftops past midnight, just her and I. We drink smuggled alcohol, talk about anything, and just bullshit about the world. She says she wants to travel, I say I want to stay.

 

She calls me ridiculous; she asks why I’d want to get stuck in a place like Watford, and I just shrug and cringe with the sip of beer that I swig down.

 

Never quite got used to the taste.

 

That’s still the topic tonight; Watford. Life. The future.  _ Our _ future.

 

She lays gracefully on a hanging windowtop, legs swinging off the edge. I’m extended out onto the shingled roof, a hoodie bunched up under my head. It’s Fi’s.

 

A lit cigarette hangs from her lips and she’s got a bottle of cider in hand, eyes locked on the stars. She looks like she’s meant to live amongst them. “You’re really gonna do it, huh?” Her voice has got a gravel to it; a certain roughness that I’ve never quite understood. It’s not natural; I can tell that much by the way she laughs so sweetly when we’re alone. Speaking, though, builds up a wall like it’s still this impenetrable barrier. It makes me want to scream. It makes me want to wipe it away.

 

“Do what?” Sometimes, I’m too scared to raise my voice above a whisper. I know nobody really looks at the top of The Cloisters at half past one, and that in reality, we could never get  _ too _ in trouble with Natasha being Head and all. Nevertheless, it's a scary thought to me, getting caught.

 

Sometimes I wonder if the Pitch family just nice to me because she feels sorry for me (and my family). Headmistress Pitch always looks at Nicky like he’s some basket case, although it’s arguably not far from the truth. I guess he’s just Nicky, in the end. Headstrong, hard-headed Nicky.

 

“You’re gonna stay in this shithole of a town?” She punctuates it with the flick of her ash, letting it tumble off the side of the roof as her legs sway forwards and back. “Not gonna hop off with Nicky and I?”

 

I wind my finger around the loose thread of my jumper, tugging at it loosely. “I quite like it out here,” I say softly, eyes slowly drifting towards her face. It’s outlined in the stark moonlight, making her white chunk of hair glow. “It’s calm, and I don’t feel pressure to hide.”

 

Leaves shuffle off the roof, an early fall breeze rolling through as Fi laughs. It sounds so open; so carefree.

 

“What are you hiding that you feel like you can let go out here?”

 

Who I am. Where I’m happy. My magick, my fears, my nonconformity. I don’t have to be someone else at Watford; I don’t have to hide my powers, nor do I have to flaunt them. I get to live outside, I get to breathe fresh air. It’s not like London, and it’s definitely not like the constant pickup and go of wherever her and Nicky are heading off to.

 

After all, I’m starting to worry that Nicky’s got different plans.

 

“Myself.” My words float into the sky, and I chase them back with a sip of my beer. I wish it didn’t taste like thickened piss.

 

With a soft groan and the rattling of her metal chains (I don’t quite understand why she wears them as jewelry), Fi hauls herself to a straddling sit on the window hang. “Yourself?” She’s turned around to look at me, a halo of light surrounding the untamed mess of her hair. “What’ve you got to hide about yourself?”

 

I swallow, cheeks going a bit pink as she swings over to one side and crawls back onto the rooftop to join me. “W-well, my powers,” I start, picking at my unravelling sleeves more. “Everyone says stuff about them, telling me how much potential there is and the magick work I could continue on; saying I would be able to make it staying in the Mage’s world. Saying I should go to London and live on Coven property. I… I don’t like that.”

 

“Is that it, though?” An outstretched hand offers me an unlit cigarette. I take it, letting her light it for me before I take a drag. I cough, per usual (I hate these things; they taste bloody awful).

 

“Does there have to be more?” I mumble, body shifting as my head lolls to the side and faces her. “Do you  _ think _ there’s more?”

 

Her nails drum slowly against the ceramic typed, eyes studying mine. I hope I don’t give it away.

 

“Yeah, I do.”

 

I squirm under her gaze, head turning back upward as my eyes squeeze shut. The stars aren’t the thing I have to focus on.

 

Shakily, I raise the cigarette back to my lips and suck in slowly, letting it slowly curl out of my nose. The clanking of the roof grows closer as Fi nudges closer to my side, hand settling on my arm. I don’t pull back.

 

After blowing out a second time, I open my eyes to fixate on a single, distant, glowing star. “I suppose I’m also afraid of growing up. I mean, we’re 18. Plenty of life ahead, but I never quite thought this far ahead. Now that we’re here, it feels like it’s all been bullshit up until this point. I’d be happy to go to uni and do botany or veterinary studies for a few years, but this became home. I don’t like leaving home.”

 

“Home sounds like a bore while alone.”

 

Her words settle in my stomach like a lead ball, hitting me like a cannon blast. She’s right, it would be a bore without two specific people.

 

I let my head drop towards her again, tracing down from her widow’s peak to her chin. “The goats will keep me company, and that pretty nymph visits me sometimes.”

 

She snorts, eyes closing and head shaking a little. “Petty, I don’t understand how you could chase after a slag like that.”

 

My nose crinkles as I pout. “She’s not a slag, she just… talks all flirty.”

 

“With everyone in the year?”

 

I raise myself up onto my elbows, mouth hanging open. “She… she talks to me, though. No other girl really talks to me, except you, and who knows. Maybe if I stay, she’ll keep me company.” I’ve started crying, tears just trickling down my face. It hurts; not saying it, exactly, but the concept of her possibly  _ not _ thinking of me elsewise.

 

There’s only two girls who put up with me, and my useless lesbian brain has got me latched to both. One goes out of her way for me, but the other’s going to stay. The only reason I sulk after the latter is maybe I’m afraid of what the former would do if I asked her not to leave.

 

“You’re my company now, Ebb.” As if in slow motion, her hand raises up and settles right in the middle of my chest. “‘M not tryin to bugger off from  _ you _ in particular.”

 

“Then why’re you trying to run so far?”

 

We’re staring at each other for an awful while, tears streaking down my cheeks silently. I’ve gotten good at this, crying as quietly as possible. I’d be utterly awkward if my roommate caught me sobbing every other night while I'm just to get my feelings out of the way. So, now, I just let it all out with a bit lip and a watery gaze.

 

Exhaling slowly, her thumb strokes the wooly fabric of my jumper. I’m to the point of internalized screaming; just wanting her to know. Wanting her to feel how I feel.

 

My eyes set on her lips, laying there in a longing silence. Maybel all my problems will go away, all the graduation anxieties and the fear of it all going to shit, if I tell her how I feel. Lowering my jaw, I race through the possibilities and various outcomes that could follow, starting with the glaringly disappointing option for rejection.

 

Eyes following my jaw, she lets out a groaning noise and presses closer. “Stop thinking just kiss me ya twit.” Her breath reeks of stolen booze and cigarettes, making my stomach do somersaults. My eyes rake over her, leaning back on my elbows as my back dips and nearly brushes the rooftop below me. The hand's still pressed to the middle of my chest, making me wish, making me  _ beg _ she'd just move it over a bit so she can't feel my heart pounding with how much I  _ want _ to kiss her.

 

So I kiss her. I stop thinking, I stop crying, and I kiss Fiona Pitch.

 

Her lips are softer than I’d anticipated  _ (what was I even expecting? _ ) Her hand’s balling up around my clothes, but I can’t wish for any better because this is all of that and some.

 

She’s clearly got more experience than me, tracing her tongue against my bottom lip as I gasp and start to yank back to apologize. In response, she just shakes her head, utters a quick “Shut up” before pulling me right back in.

 

She’s pressing up towards me, and I just melt forward. A hesitant hand sneaks up and rests against her stomach as my mouth falls open slightly. Her tongue grazes mine, eliciting a moan that comes more from my spinning, confused brain right now as opposed to anywhere else. She's got her hand moving now, resting now on the back of my neck and threading through my hair. With a hesitant push, I nudge my hand under the hem of her stitched tee and feel the skin of her side. Unexpectedly, her hand flies down and latches to my wrist, urging my touch upwards.

 

Is she..?

 

As I near her chest, she drops her grip and slowly strokes down my arm. My fingertips meet skin, and my face flushes at the full realization that she's not wearing a bra.

 

The unfathomably hot noise she makes into my mouth as she’s snogging the life out of me makes me not even question whether or not I’m allowed to go for it.

 

I’ve never touched any tits except mine, so cupping hers is the closest thing to a religious experience that I think I’ve ever gotten. They're not too big, so I've got it cupped and Merlin, the way she gasps when I squeeze makes my heart race out of my chest. 

 

We break apart, panting and staring at each other with wide, glassy eyes. My hand’s still on her boob (a bloody good boob, at that), thumb playing with her nipple as she blushes shamelessly. Within seconds, she’s pressed back to my skin, both her hands under my jumper and tugging me closer. Hands feeling my body, skin pressed up against skin as her teeth graze against my neck.

 

Eventually, I pull her back up to my mouth and just kiss her without the tension and without the rushed sloppiness. I just kiss her the way I've wanted to kiss her for years; with one hand in her hair and the other on her jaw, cradling her like the best thing I've ever held.

 

Here, she softens to me. No rough exterior, nothing to prove, no way to try to show up. She's just Fiona, the girl who sat with me and Nicky in first year at breakfast despite having plenty of other friends. She’s the girl who gets in trouble because she’s afraid she won't live enough. She’s the girl who has the mind of a genius, but would rather make herself happy.

 

She’s the girl who kisses me until the sun starts peaking out; the one who raises herself up beside me and strokes my cheek, telling me I'm a beautiful fool before grabbing up our emptied bottles and sneaking back in through our hidden latch.

 

She’s the girl I’ll let go of one day, because she deserves to be set free.


End file.
